


So

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Bondage, Ficlet, M/M, Mirror Universe, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8955043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Archer puts Reed at his mercy, to Reed’s surprised delight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “bondage & discipline” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Captain Archer takes too long to answer, and that’s how Malcolm knows his suggestion wasn’t taken well. He stands rigidly at attention anyway, eyes fixed somewhere over Archer’s shoulder, hands at his sides and posture straight. Archer clicks his tongue and takes a step forward, then another, turning around Malcolm to stroll in a slow circle—Malcolm gets the distinct impression that he’s being sized up. He’s careful not to show how much the outcome means to him. By the time Archer gets back around to the front, Malcolm half expects to be dragged off to be agonized in his own latest creation.

Archer finally opens his mouth, drawling coolly, “You’ve been complaining an awful lot lately about there not being enough discipline amongst my other officers, Major. Could it be an unconscious desire to see more for _yourself_?”

Not so unconscious. But Malcolm doesn’t bat an eyelash, just lies, “No, Sir.”

“No,” Archer snorts, full of mockery that _almost_ makes Malcolm wince—this isn’t going how he thought it would. “No,” Archer sighs again, turning to glance out the porthole in his personal quarters, the stars streaking by—it was a risk to report here. “I suppose it’s not your intention to spread ill-content about my crew, ultimately fostering ideas of mutiny.” Malcolm tenses at the single word—that wasn’t his intent _at all_ , though Archer looks back to him to finish coldly, “It’s just the inevitable outcome.”

Malcolm parts his lip, but no sound comes out. When the captain gets like this, there’s no talking to him. Archer takes a step closer, his warm breath suddenly ghosting over Malcolm’s chin, and Malcolm drops his gaze submissively to the floor. It’s a strategic survival move, one he doesn’t employ for just anyone. Archer hesitates a second, probably taking the subtle movement in.

Then he snarls, “Strip,” and Malcolm jumps to comply. He doesn’t even bother to pull his weapons from their holsters. He jerks the zipper down his jacket and pulls it from his shoulders, dropping it behind him, then pulls his undershirt over his head, assuming Archer means _everything_. When he’s bare-chested, he unhooks his belt and all its supplies, sliding it out to join the rest, and pushes down his trousers, bending to unfasten his boots. Archer waits impatiently, tapping one ill-tempered foot. Malcolm’s hyper-aware of the scrutiny and behaves accordingly. He’s just pushing down his pants when Archer abruptly marches across the room, yanking open a drawer and extracting...

Long strips of black leather, it looks like. Malcolm straightens again, stepping out of his boots to stand, naked and vulnerable, in the middle of the captain’s quarters. Archer hisses under his breath, “I’ll show you discipline...” and Malcolm has to suppress a shiver of anticipation. He schools his features blank, holding back the exhilaration. There are so few men in the Empire who can really discipline _him_ , with his rank and his strength, but of course a captain, _this captain_ , could do it. He gets the feeling he won’t have to give his usual request that his partner not be gentle. Archer might be the one man on the ship with bloodlust to rival him.

Archer walks right behind him, kicks his discarded clothes aside like so much junk, and yanks both of his hands behind him. Malcolm holds them obediently together and says nothing while Archer starts to twine the cords around him. There must be metal that can do this better, but he has a feeling Archer likes the classics. Malcolm’s wrists are bound firmly together, so tight that he imagines he’ll lose circulation if this goes too long. Archer probably wouldn’t care. Archer ties all the way up to Malcolm’s shoulders, the cords digging in and likely leaving angry red lines in their wake. Then Archer barks, “Kneel,” and Malcolm instantly complies.

He hits the cold deck plating at Archer’s feet and spreads his legs, conscious of how stiff his cock’s already grown. There’s no way Archer hasn’t noticed it. But Archer says nothing of it when he kneels down and grabs a hold of Malcolm’s neck. Archer squeezes tight around his throat, seeming to relish in his strangled cry, and then Malcolm’s hurtled against the floor. He’s pressed onto his side, his cheek and shoulder stinging from the impact. Malcolm keeps his legs bent, feet against his arse, because he figures it was why he was told to kneel. Sure enough, Archer starts binding his ankle to his thigh. Once he’s tied all the way down to his knee, Archer lifts the hand around Malcolm’s neck, and Malcolm rolls over without even having to be told. Archer snickers as he binds the other leg, and then he grabs a chunk of Malcolm’s hair and jerks him back up by it. Malcolm totters back to his knees, teeth grit against the pain. Yet he’s disappointed when Archer’s hand leaves his head, and Archer stands up again, towering above him to muse, “Well, look at that. You’re more loyal than I thought, Major. I figured you’d balk at your own discipline.”

Malcolm knows they’ve moved full out of anything he suggested and into Archer’s own proclivities—ones he probably doesn’t dare pull on Sato. Malcolm licks his dry lips and says, “I live to serve.”

“Do you?” Archer snorts. “And how many people do you serve, exactly? I bet half the crew would love a go at your cock-sucker lips.” Malcolm stifles a wince, not entirely successfully, which wracks a dark chuckle out of Archer. He bends down then, resting on his toes, to be eye level with Malcolm. There’s a glint in his that’s almost _terrifying_ , so full of madness and power-lust, but that only makes Malcolm harder. In a lower voice, Archer mutters, “You know, I’ve wondered about that for a while, Reed. Just how loyal you are to me, I mean. I’ve wanted to give you a personal lesson in my private quarters for some time now. I think, based on how readily you surrendered, that you think you need it too.”

 _Need_ is a strong word. But he does _want_ it. He tells Archer unabashedly, “I’m yours.” And he’s going to stay on this ship. He’s going to keep his rank or higher. He’s going to continue serving under one of the few men as ruthless as him, and, if this continues going in the same vein, he’s going to have a nice source of release too.

Archer dons a lazy smirk and decides aloud, “I think you’re almost _too_ eager, Major. Discipline doesn’t work when the student craves the punishment.” Malcolm doesn’t deny that craving, and Archer tilts his head, going on, “And here I was going to have fun paddling your tight ass, but now I’m wondering if I should find another way to teach you not to pester my crew.”

Malcolm doubts Archer has any punishments he wouldn’t thrive under. He keeps his gaze locked on Archer’s and concentrates on not arching forward too wantonly, not letting his hips buck forward, not letting his needy cock leak onto the floor. It twitches at the thought, and Archer’s eyes flicker down, bypassing Malcolm’s exposed chest and taut stomach, right down to the short, dark hairs around his base and the jut of his shaft. The grin tugs wider across Archer’s face, clear _hunger_ slipping onto his handsome features, and he reaches one hand forward, almost—

Then the communicator beeps in his back pocket, and Archer moves for that instead. He pulls it out to flip it open, answering casually, “Archer here.”

 _“Cap’n,”_ Tucker’s voice filters in, sounding just a tad nervous. _“I’m in your Mess, and they just brought out dinner—”_

“I’ll be right there,” Archer says, then snaps the communicator abruptly closed. Malcolm’s mood falls immediately. The one punishment he doesn’t want is having to wait. And he gets the distinct feeling he’ll be waiting plenty long.

Archer’s smirking again, probably at the disappointment all over Malcolm’s face. “I guess your training will have to hold off.” Archer pauses to press a finger against Malcolm’s collarbone, earning a harried breath before running slowly down Malcolm’s chest. “Now I’m glad I tied you up, so I won’t have to worry about whether or not you’re being a good boy and waiting for me...”

“I’d wait, Sir,” Malcolm insists. Archer looks amused. 

“I’ll bring back some food for you to lick out of my palm,” he drawls, pushing back up to his feet. “...And maybe I’ll bring Tucker back for dessert.”

He turns and marches for the door so quickly that he probably missed the surprise on Malcolm’s face, laced in gleeful anticipation at the prospect.


End file.
